


fieri sentio et excrucior

by oui_oui_mon_ami



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Rights, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Poetry, The Captain is Gay (Ghosts TV 2019), The Captain needs a hug, but like. theyre already dead so, but very minor and very brief i'm far too ace for anything more, excessive use of latin, vague references to sex, we been knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oui_oui_mon_ami/pseuds/oui_oui_mon_ami
Summary: It all begins when the Captain meets the Roman centurion ghost next door.
Relationships: The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 104
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is my first work for this fandom but i binged both seasons last week and ended up sobbing to redding weddy at 3am so here we are 
> 
> updates will probably be sporadic bc of uni stuff but i will finish it eventually and you can hold me to that 
> 
> anyways enjoy

The first time the Captain sees him, he’s doing his rounds like he always does at the end of the day, circling the grounds more out of habit than to defend Button House from any real threat. Letting his mind wander, he walks on autopilot further away from the house than he usually does, and ends up amidst the trees at the very edge of the property, the edge that borders that posh chap’s manor. As he walks, a squirrel darts out in front of him, startling him. Not that he has any need to be afraid, considering the fact that no one has ever invaded his territory, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to see or hear him.

Until…

The Captain spots movement out of the corner of his eye and halts, turning towards it. In the darkness, he spots a figure advancing directly towards him. A figure in what seems to be full Roman military regalia. With his sword drawn.

 _He must be another ghost_ , the Captain thinks. That or a – what did Michael call it, a _cosplayer_? – with the same gift as Alison.

The Captain clears his throat and thinks back to his Latin classes at school. He had memorised the entire first book of the _Aeneid_ by the time he left for the army. But that was a long, long time ago. “Uh… _salve_?” he calls out. “ _Qui es_?”

The soldier stops in his tracks, clearly surprised that the Captain is speaking to him. Definitely a ghost, then.

“ _Ego sum_ … um… the Captain? _Centurio_? _Sum a domo_ … I don’t suppose you have buttons… back there? _Ibi_? _Magnus domus_.” He mimes the roof of a house with his arms.

The soldier is still staring at him. Finally, after the Captain has continued his broken Latin for a few moments, he opens his mouth to speak. “I do understand English, you know. Being here for two millennia means that one picks up some things.” There is a slight European twang to his accent, perhaps Spanish or Italian.

The Captain blinks at him. “Oh,” he says eloquently. “Well.” He puffs out his chest in an attempt to appear intimidating. But the soldier’s bemused smile is rather disarming. “What is your purpose in coming here? I am in charge of this territory.” In ghost terms, he is in charge. Legally, though, Alison is. But the soldier doesn’t need to know the details.

“And _I_ am in charge of _this_ territory,” the soldier says, gesturing to the ground around him. “I am Marcus Avidius Rufus, Centurion of the Roman Army, _Legio Secunda Augusta_. And I have been defending this land for far longer than you have been alive. Or dead.”

“Why have I never seen you before, then?”

“I have not come here in a long time,” Marcus Avidius Rufus replies. He casually tosses his sword from hand to hand, causing the defined muscles in his arms to flex and relax. The Captain doesn’t realise until that he has been staring until a good few seconds have passed. “I focus my duties on the other side of the house, and the house itself.” Rufus points back where he had walked from, in the direction of the posh chap’s estate.

The Captain raises an eyebrow. “And you leave this side undefended? Vulnerable to attack? That is a grave strategic fault. A rookie mistake.”

Rufus’ cheeks turn pink, clearly enough even for the Captain to see in the dark. “How dare you question a centurion’s strategy?” Suddenly, he smirks. “At least I have a weapon to defend my land with. What is that, a stick?”

The Captain fidgets with his swagger stick uncomfortably. “I think you’ll find that a good soldier can defend themselves with even the most unexpected of items,” he snaps.

Rufus is still smirking. “Is that right? A mere stick against a _gladius_?”

“Yes,” the Captain says firmly.

“All right then. Let us test that theory.”

“What?”

“In Rome, gladiators would be given different weapons to use to fight each other to the death. We are already dead, so…”

The Captain swallows. “Are you proposing we fight each other?”

“Unless you are as cowardly as you look,” Rufus says nonchalantly, examining his blade.

And that does it. No one calls the Captain a coward. Except maybe himself.

He points his swagger stick at Rufus and charges. The centurion readies himself by assuming a defensive stance. The Captain braces himself, and then–

And then he’s suddenly running back in the direction of Button House. He whirls around to face Rufus again, who is frowning. He tries to run at him again, but finds himself running in the opposite direction.

Rufus tries to charge him this time, but the Captain sees him disappear and then reappear running away from him. “So it is still there,” Rufus mutters, frowning at the space between them. “The invisible barrier.”

“It appears we are at an impasse,” the Captain says. “I cannot cross into your territory and you cannot cross into mine.”

Rufus looks slightly disappointed at the prospect of a duel being taken away from him. “It certainly seems so,” he replies. “But this does not mean that you are off the hook.”

“Nor are you off mine,” the Captain says curtly. They stand there awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure how to continue a conversation after just trying to attack each other. Finally, the Captain clears his throat. “Well, I must continue patrolling the grounds.”

Rufus nods. “And I mine.”

The Captain starts to back away, still keeping his eyes on Rufus. “Jolly good,” he says. “Carry on, Centurion.”

“I will. And maybe you will find a real weapon on your patrol.”

The Captain scowls. To his anger, Rufus laughs.

And if the Captain still had a beating heart, he is sure that it would have skipped a beat.

\---

“Funny thing happened to me last night,” the Captain announces to the other ghosts of Button House the next morning. Not that any of them are particularly listening to him.

“What happened, Cap?” He stands corrected. Pat, supportive as always, is smiling at him encouragingly.

“I came across a Roman centurion ghost while doing my rounds.”

Robin looks up from his chess board at that. “Rufus? Rufus still here?”

Kitty beams. “Oh, I have missed him.”

“We thoughts he’d been sucked off long time ago,” Mary says. “He hasn’t come in many a year.”

“How long?”

“Two hundred years or so?” Kitty replies. “Thomas, you haven’t met him, have you?”

“Hmm? No,” Thomas replies absentmindedly from his spot at the window.

“I’m glad he came back. Although I would have loved to have talked to him. He tells the most marvellous stories about Ancient Rome and all the soldiers he fought with!” She giggles at the thought of soldiers.

The Captain frowns. “So you actually like this man?”

“Rufus good. Have known him long time,” Robin says.

“But he… he challenged me!” the Captain sputters. “He tried to attack me! Naturally, I defended myself and Button House most valiantly-”

“Bullshit,” Robin says. “No fighting. Big wall.”

“Well, yes, we didn’t actually fight, per se…”

“I think you two would get along,” Kitty says. “You’re both soldiers.”

“Having one thing in common does not necessarily guarantee friendship,” the Captain says.

“But you can bond over it!” Kitty explains. “And then you could realise that you actually do have more in common than being soldiers.”

“If ye sees him again, tell him come back in the day,” Mary says, “so we can see him too.”

The Captain doesn’t understand what the three of them like about the centurion. – apart from, perhaps, the fact that he didn’t take the Captain seriously – but nevertheless he goes back to the same spot the following night. Not because the others told him to, of course, but in order to ensure that there are still no threats to Button House.

And, to his annoyance, Rufus is already waiting for him. The centurion smirks at him. “Back for round two?” he calls in greeting.

“I am simply defending my land, as I always do,” the Captain replies coldly. “And what about you? I thought you didn’t frequent this part of your grounds?”

Rufus blinks and flounders for a response for a moment. His cheeks turn pink again, which the Captain finds rather endearing.

Endearing? No. Definitely not. Bury that thought.

“I… um… yes, after our altercation last night I decided to refocus my duties,” Rufus explains eventually. “Perhaps the areas with the most threats have changed somewhat in the last two hundred years.”

“So I am a threat?” The Captain smiles, pleased with himself.

Rufus blushes some more. “No! Certainly not with that stick you call a weapon. I am here… to train.”

“Train?” The Captain raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Rufus clears his throat. “A good soldier is always in pursuit of improving himself.”

Despite his wariness, the Captain feels a spark of joy at someone sharing his philosophy. “Ah. Very good,” he says, keeping his excitement off his face. “Well. Mind if I join you? I need to keep these old joints in check.”

Rufus blinks in surprise before his usual infuriating smirk returns. “Oh… yes, I suppose so. A _senex_ like you should certainly keep in shape.”

The Captain remembers that word from his Latin classes. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I am not that old! In fact, technically speaking, you’re much older than me!”

Rufus chuckles, removing his helmet to reveal sandy blond hair, a little longer than befits a soldier, and places it on the ground. “Then why am I about to outrun you?” And he takes off.

The Captain makes an indignant noise and chases after him.

Rufus is fast. The Captain prides himself on being the fastest runner at Button House (not that anyone else tries to beat him, save for perhaps Robin when he spots a squirrel), but Rufus is fast even by his standards. They run through the trees, the Captain not bothering to watch out for roots or logs and instead letting his feet pass straight through them, and when they reach the treeline Rufus stops and smirks back at the Captain. “ _Victor sum_ ,” he exclaims.

Even though the Captain doesn’t need to breathe, he still finds himself panting. “You cheated,” he retorted. “That isn’t an honourable victory.”

“It is a victory nonetheless,” Rufus says, still grinning. “But if you would like a rematch, I am happy to comply. On your marks, get set, go!” And they are off again, without a moment for the Captain to recover from the first race.

Rufus, of course, beats him by a considerable margin this time. Only the mottled pink on his cheeks betrays that he has exercised at all. He picks up his helmet and holds it under one arm. “I win again,” he says smugly.

The Captain scowls, still out of non-existent breath. “I concede,” he says reluctantly.

“You are a worthy opponent,” Rufus says. “I had forgotten the benefits of training with others.”

“Do you not have many fellow ghosts?” the Captain asks.

Rufus looks down at the ground, clears his throat. “The only other ghost who remains is the great, great, great, great, great uncle of the current owner, and he talks to no one.” He looks as if he is about to say something else before thinking better of it.

“It must be rather lonely,” the Captain says, softer than he meant to. He can’t imagine life at Button House without the other ghostly residents. It would be more peaceful, certainly, but almost too quiet. No. The Captain thrives off others, needs them to fulfil his purpose of leading people.

“Yes, well. I have learned to live with it. Or rather, be dead with it.”

The Captain looks over at Rufus. His cocky, jocular expression has been replaced with a far more sombre one. He has seen such an expression on the faces of veterans in his war documentaries, men who have lost far too many friends far too suddenly. The Captain has never been one for physical affection, or any affection for that manner, but he wants so badly to put a reassuring hand on the centurion’s arm. “Come back tomorrow,” he blurts out, “during the day. There are some friends of mine, old friends of yours, who would like to see you.”

A smile grows on Rufus’ face. “As you wish. I shall be here at noon.”

“Jolly good.” The Captain clears his throat. “Well, I must finish my rounds. I shall see you tomorrow, Centurion.”

Rufus smiles at him as if the Captain has just told a joke that he doesn’t quite get. “You may call me Rufus,” he says.

The Captain ignores the way his non-existent pulse speeds up ever so slightly. “I shall see you tomorrow, Centurion,” he repeats. He also ignores the way Rufus rolls his eyes with a chuckle as they part ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a minute lol uni has been v v busy with work and writing and all that stuff but hopefully w the lockdown i'll have more time/motivation to write this :)

True to his word, the Captain finds Rufus at noon the next day. He doesn’t admit how much of a challenge it was to get everyone out of the house by that time: Thomas was deep in his morning wallowing-in-self-pity routine; Julian had been trying to beat his high score on Pong; and Humphrey was nowhere to be seen. Finally, and with some much-needed help from Pat and Alison, he drags them all to the border of the land, where Rufus is already waiting, helmet under one arm and grinning casually.

Kitty squeals as soon as she spots him. “Rufus! It’s so lovely to see you!” she cries, racing up to him.

“Greetings, Kitty,” Rufus says with a friendly nod. “How have you been keeping?”

“I’m very well! I’ve missed you, but I’ve made some wonderful friends while you’ve been away.” She gestures to the pack of ghosts, Alison standing rather awkwardly in the middle.

Rufus’ eyes light up when he spots Robin. “Ah! Robin!”

“Long time no see,” Robin grunts happily.

“Are you still undefeated at that board game you like? What was it called?”

“Chess,” the Captain supplies eagerly, receiving a grateful smile from Rufus in return.

“Yes. No one beat me.”

“I did, once,” Julian argues.

“Did not. Board fell.” Robin scowls at him.

“Uh, no, actually, Robin, you’ll find that because the game never ended, no one won. And then, consequentially, you didn’t beat me. Therefore, you cannot say that you’ve won every match.” He grins smugly at Rufus. “Julian Fawcett MP.”

“A politician?” Rufus asks.

“Yes, exactly. And a fine one too.” The others all scoff at that claim.

“My brother was a politician, back in Rome,” Rufus says. He ponders for a moment. “I have never trusted politicians,” he continues bluntly. “They are often selfish, with no care for anyone but themselves, nor anything but their thirst for power.”

Julian blinks. “Well,” he says, “when you put it like that…”

“Hang on, hold me up so I can see!” Humphrey calls to Mary, who is holding him. She lifts him above her head and he smiles down at Rufus. “Hello, old friend!”

“Humphrey! You are still having trouble controlling your body, I presume?”

“It’s getting there,” Humphrey says.

“And _Maria_ ,” Rufus calls Mary the Latinised version of her name, lingering on the rolled R, and Mary blushes.

“You’s shorter than I remembers,” she says. “Maybe one or three potatoes shorter.”

Rufus laughs and his cheeks colour a little. “It might be the helmet,” he says.

“My turn!” Pat says, coming to the front of the group. “I’m Pat. I died in 1984, arrow to the neck, as you can see…” he gestures grimly towards the broken arrow. “And in life, I was a scoutmaster.”

Rufus nods at him. “It is good to meet you, Pat. It must have been a noble death, yours. Much like Achilles.”

“Who?”

“Achilles. The Greek hero? He was killed by an arrow. A valiant death indeed.”

Pat shifts, flustered. “Oh, well I’ve never thought about that,” he mumbles.

Rufus glances at Alison. “And you must be the newest addition to Button House.”

“Well, yes and no,” Alison says. “I moved here a few months ago with my husband, but I’m still alive.”

Rufus frowns. “Are... are you sure?”

“Yes. I can just see ghosts.”

“You can communicate with the dead?” Rufus asks. “That is a great and mysterious power. Use it wisely.”

Alison nods sagely. “I will. Absolutely.”

Finally, Thomas clears his throat. “And I am Thomas Thorne. Poet, artist…”

“Poet?” Rufus asks curiously. “Why, I love poetry! I am something of an amateur poet myself…”

Thomas’ face lights up, much to the displeasure of everyone else present. “Finally! Another cultured being! You do not understand how long I have had to suffer the company of these heathens!”

The Captain spots Rufus trying to contain his humour, and has to hide a smile himself. “Perhaps we could share verses sometime?” Rufus asks, to an uproar of panicked protests from the other ghosts.

Thomas, on the other hand, looks happier than the Captain has ever seen him (except, maybe, that one time Alison had smiled at him in a certain way that had made him beam from ear to ear). “Why not now?” he exclaims, and Julian groans loudly. “In fact, just this morning I was composing another masterpiece. It would rival the greatest poets of today, if only the world could hear it.” And before Rufus – or any of the other ghosts – can respond, Thomas launches into his poem. Something about flowers wilting in an eternal night.

The Captain has never seen the appeal in poetry. What does one take him for, a romantic? He is a man of actions and few words, and he cannot deal with the extended metaphors and hidden messages that poetry so often contains. Why spend five verses saying something one could communicate in three sentences? It is just impractical.

So he tunes Thomas’ rambling out and instead watches Rufus. The centurion is wearing his bemused expression, the silently judgemental one which the Captain recognises from being on the receiving end of it a couple of times before, but he is still listening politely to Thomas. The Captain finds himself slightly uncomfortable seeing Rufus’ attention focused on someone else – particularly Thomas, of all people – but he puts it down to the fact that he is used to meeting with the centurion alone at night. That and the fact that in his opinion soldiers should have no time for poetry. It is a waste of precious effort that can be devoted instead to training or devising strategies. Rufus glances over at him and he quickly drops his gaze to the ground, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

After what feels like hours, Thomas finishes with a grandiose flourish of his arms. Alison had retreated back to the house a while earlier, along with Mary, Pat, Humphrey and Fanny. Rufus nods appreciatively at Thomas, who is waiting eagerly for feedback. “You have certainly been given a gift by the Muses,” he says, and Thomas preens. Julian leans over towards him and mutters something that makes Rufus burst out laughing. “ _Nonne loqueris linguam Latinam_?” the Captain just about hears Rufus ask. Julian says something else in very fast Latin that makes Rufus raise his eyebrows and reply in even faster Latin, which the Captain can’t even attempt to decipher. Then they both chuckle. The Captain feels a sharp pang of… something – it doesn’t feel like pain, at least no pain he’s ever felt before, and he can’t develop any new ailments on account of being dead and all – as he watches them. Julian’s eyes meet his for a split second and once again the Captain quickly looks away, focusing instead on a very interesting leaf by his foot.

“Good poem, but better if about bum,” Robin is saying to Thomas, who groans.

“For the last time, I will not defile my poetry with crude subjects! It is a discipline that takes talent and years of practice. I would not expect unevolved beings like you to understand.”

“Actually, in my time, many a fine poem was written about what you call ‘crude subjects’,” Rufus pipes up. “They were certainly not to everyone’s tastes, but you cannot please everyone. I would share my favourites with you, but perhaps not in the presence of a lady.” He nods at Kitty.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you!” Kitty exclaims.

Thomas gasps. “Forgive me, please! I was so caught up in my own recitation that I completely neglected to allow you to speak! You must entertain us with one of your own verses.”

Rufus blinks. “Oh, no,” he says, his cheeks turning pink. “I could not dare to follow your performance. Indeed, your poetry puts mine to shame! And it is in Latin, so none of you would understand it.”

“I am sure your poetry is wonderful,” the Captain says, and Rufus blinks surprisedly at him, as if only just noticing his presence. That strange ache returns. “And even if we cannot understand the language,” he continues, “verse can… transcend language, can it not?”

A small smile appears on Rufus’ face. It is not malicious, not even judgemental. It seems to be a mixture of surprise and fondness that leaves the Captain feeling oddly self-conscious. “That is an astute observation, Captain. Are you a reader of poetry? Or perhaps a poet yourself?”

“Good lord, no,” the Captain replies far too quickly. “It’s a waste of time for a soldier.”

And the smile disappears. “I disagree,” Rufus says. “In fact, I think that it is a welcome distraction at times. Soldiers are people, after all, not machines. And people must expand their minds with knowledge besides battle tactics.”

The Captain frowns. “But all this flowery language? This dancing around the point? It’s inefficient, counterproductive, even. It is the complete opposite of what a soldier should strive for.”

“But what about the phrase ‘opposites attract’?” Rufus says. “Besides, believe it or not, poetry does have its strict rules. Its metre has to be perfect: one wrong rhythm and the whole thing falls apart, much like a military march. Rhyme schemes, too, in more recent centuries. And in my time, before that, even, epic poetry had stock phrases, epithets for each character, key tropes that followed the tradition for centuries. Writing a poem takes discipline, the same as devising a plan of attack.”

“It’s a distraction.”

Rufus takes a step towards him, fists clenched. “From war? Quite possibly. But what happens when the war ends?”

That question takes the Captain by surprise. He stammers for a reply before looking around for the others – but they are already halfway across the field, walking back towards Button House, tired of the two soldiers’ bickering.

Rufus seems to take pity on him – not that he needs to be pitied – because he offers an answer to his own question. “When I was alive, once one war ended, it was on to the next. Constant fighting. Constant conquering. Myself, and many other soldiers who had literary leanings, would dream of a different life. More peaceful. More stable. No glory, no hope of Elysium – but we would be content with the little we had.” He chuckles. “I guess my dream came true, just not in the way I expected.” He looks over at the Captain. “Did you ever imagine a life outside the war?”

The Captain thinks for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. “I always wanted to be a soldier, and once I was, war was all I had time to think about. You can’t waste time fantasising about a life outside the war when that potential life hangs in the balance.”

“You never had a hobby? An interest in anything else?”

“You make me out to be some old bore,” the Captain says with a frown.

“And you are not?”

The Captain continues to frown at Rufus’ smirk. “I suppose I had a faint interest in theatre,” he concedes.

Rufus’ face lights up, which makes the Captain’s stomach flip. “You like the theatre!” he exclaims. “So do I! When I was in Rome, I would go very often. Tell me, do they still perform the tragedies of Seneca the Younger?”

The Captain blinks. “I… am not sure.”

“ _Oedipus, Thyestes, Medea_?” Rufus lists off.

“I think nowadays they perform primarily the Greek tragedies,” the Captain says.

Rufus pulls a face. “Ridiculous. Just because Euripides is older does not mean his _Medea_ is the best,” he says. “What was theatre like in your day?”

The Captain remembers back. “There was a sudden great interest in Shakespeare during the war,” he said. “There were Shaw and Coward, both excellent playwrights. And of course there was musical theatre.”

“Did your plays not usually have music?”

“No, not usually. Plays with music – musicals – and operas, and operettas, are different.”

The Captain talked more about theatre, and about Gilbert and Sullivan, and when Rufus asked to hear some, he blushed and did his “Modern Major General” bit, which Rufus seemed to find impressive.

“So who is your favourite poet, then?” the Captain asks after the attention has been on him for a little longer than usually comfortable. “If you had to choose one.”

“Catullus,” Rufus says decisively. “He made strides for Latin love poetry, and so many later poets credit him as a model. His poetry ranged from deep and sorrowful to grandiose and dramatic to crude attacks on his enemies. And he died young too – which is why I am still drawn to him in death, I suppose.”

“Do you know any by heart?” the Captain asks.

“Oh. I suppose I do. I could recite one of my favourites?” The Captain nods and Rufus blushes a little. “Alright. Here is one of my favourites:

_“pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,  
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,  
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,  
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.  
nam castum esse decet pium poetam  
ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;  
qui sunt molliculi ac parum pudici  
eet quod pruriat incitare possunt,  
non dico pueris sed his pilosis  
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.  
vos, quod milia multa basiorum  
legistis, male me marem putatis?  
pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.” _

The Captain is left rather awestruck at Rufus reciting in Latin, the words he doesn’t have a hope of understanding rolling right off his tongue. It is a beautiful sound. “What does it mean?” he asks when Rufus is done.

Rufus blushes pinker. “Well… it is a poem about Catullus’ own poetry. There were people who criticised it for being too effeminate, but he proves that being effeminate is not always bad.”

The Captain knows that the poem probably means more than that, but he just nods. “That is a valid message,” he says. “Perhaps I was too harsh on poetry before. It can be… enriching.”

Rufus smirks at him. “I told you so.”

The Captain scowls and rolls his eyes. “And now you’ve ruined the moment,” he says flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem is catullus 16 and it's one of my own favourites - it's known as one of the rudest surviving latin poems though so read at your own risk  
> the title also comes from another of my favourite catullus poems, poem 85. i think it fits cap's developing feelings for rufus v well :))))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am currently Very sleep deprived and this isn't proofread so i'm sorry for any mistakes but hey it's an update that didn't take weeks

The Captain corners Julian in the library later that day. “You know Latin,” he says bluntly.

Julian raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t move from behind the laptop. “I was forced to suffer lessons at school,” he replies. “And there were certain traditions at Cambridge. Most of them dirty. Why are you bringing this up?”

“Oh, no reason,” the Captain says. “I just wanted to know what you said to Rufus earlier.”

Julian smirks. “Jealous, are we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Captain says. “I don’t get jealous.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Well? What did you say?”

That only makes Julian smirk even more. “You _are_ jealous.”

“ _I am not jealous_!” the Captain exclaims. “I have nothing to be jealous about! Rufus is allowed to have other friends, goodness knows he has known Robin longer than either of us could imagine.”

“Jealousy is very rarely rational,” Julian continues, still primarily focusing on the laptop screen.

“For the last time, I am not… what are you looking at?”

“Ah, Cap, I don’t think you’d appreciate-”

The Captain walks behind Julian’s chair to look at the screen. Then immediately regrets it. “Good Lord,” he exclaims as he shields his eyes from a pair of large, naked breasts. “Why on earth… Julian…”

“Told you you wouldn’t appreciate it,” Julian mutters.

“Just… remember what Alison said about computer diseases.”

“Viruses,” Julian corrects.

“They’re the same thing,” the Captain says tiredly. He turns to leave, refusing to spend any longer with the politician.

“I only made a joke about how awful Thomas’ poetry is,” Julian calls after him.

The Captain pauses. “What?”

“What I was talking to Rufus about, in Latin. I said that Augustus probably would’ve had him exiled for his verses. And then he replied that Augustus would've loved Thomas' poetry, owing to the fact that he had awful taste.”

“Oh,” is all the Captain can say. The rational part of his mind says that it’s a stupid joke and not funny at all. The – significantly smaller, mind you – irrational part says that stupid or not, it was communication in Latin, which Rufus was probably rather pleased to have after two thousand years. And then the rational part crushes the irrational part like usual with the fact that he shouldn’t even be worrying about this matter. He has more pressing things to occupy his mind.

Like his usual meeting with Rufus that night. Or the way the sun reflected off his armour in a way that is missed out on at night. Or-

“Cap?”

The Captain blinks up at Julian, who is staring at him with the ghost (ha ha) of a grin on his face. “What?”

“Are you alright? You spaced out for a moment.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t. I… I was just deep in thought,” the Captain stammers. “Well.” He clears his throat. “Carry on.” And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

\---

The Captain’s nightly meetings with Rufus quickly become a staple of his routine, however over time they spend less of them training and more sitting on their separate sides of the barrier, simply talking. About everything and nothing at the same time. They still bicker, of course, but eventually the Captain notices that he feels more comfortable around Rufus than he has felt in a long time. Like he can finally breathe properly.

One night they’re leaning against opposite trees when the Captain says something he wasn’t planning to. “I still get nightmares, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“About the war,” he explains. He is in no-man’s land. Uncharted territory. His rational mind is screaming at him to retreat, but he’s no coward. And Rufus is one of the few people alive – well, _dead_ – who might understand. “I spent much of it here, at Button House. But in the last couple of years I went overseas, ended up on the front lines.” He pauses for a moment, to collect himself. Make sure what he’s saying is intelligible. “I don’t know what I was expecting the war to look like. I was so comfortable at Button House that I expected it to be exactly the same on the continent. Up at a reasonable hour every morning, with time for a cup of tea before drills and maybe a pop at a Jerry or two.” He takes a shaky breath. “It was nothing like that. It was cold, wet, and unsanitary. We were up fighting from dawn until dusk every day, sometimes longer. The constant fear of being shot in the head or having a bomb dropped on you. So many men died back there on the fields, too many of them by my side. It was supposed to be a noble death, to die fighting, but there was nothing noble about… any of that.” He shudders. Technically, he can’t feel the cold – being dead and all – but that doesn’t stop the memories of standing, shivering and sopping wet, in the trenches after watching one of his fellow soldiers get shot in the temple by a bullet that missed him by an inch or two.

Rufus is silent for a long moment. Finally, he clears his throat. “My people believed that men went to war for glory. They would either return as rich heroes, entitled to the plunder they collected and a plot of land acquired by the Emperor himself, or they would die and be welcomed into Elysium. In reality, we were forced to go to war because of the Emperor’s hunger for land and power. Even after retirement, the land given to us was stolen from someone else, sometimes even a fellow Roman citizen. I never wanted to be a soldier, but my father wanted someone serving in the army, and my brother had his sights set on becoming a politician. Poetry was a waste of time to him, too.” He smiles sadly, and the Captain suddenly feels guilty for criticising the discipline earlier. “As a leader, I had to be ruthless with the enemy, and sometimes even with my soldiers.” He swallowed. “You fought in Germania, yes?”

“Germany, yes,” the Captain says.

“So did I,” Rufus says. “In fact, it was where I was first stationed. And where I was promoted to centurion. Soon after that promotion, we suffered a heavy loss at the hands of some Gauls. Many of my men retreated, and as a result, my commander ordered me to… _decimate_ my men.”

The word rings a bell for the Captain, something he learned in history class at school, probably. He can’t quite remember its meaning, but he can tell by the way Rufus says it that it isn’t good. “What does that mean?” he asks softly.

“It is a deterrent used for troops found guilty of cowardice. One in ten men are chosen by lot and beaten to death.”

The Captain’s mouth falls open. “That is… brutal.”

Rufus nods. “But I could not refuse. I feel infinitely guilty, even now. It is natural to feel fear, to flee at the prospect of death. My men displayed excellent survival instincts, and they were punished for it.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The Captain wishes that he could cross the barrier to be closer to Rufus, maybe lay a comforting hand on his arm. “And then you came here?”

Rufus nods. “I was part of the first invasion. AD 43, I think, is your name for the year. Unfortunately, I did not live to see much of the conquest.”

“Oh?” the Captain says, ever-so-gently coaxing him to continue.

Oddly, Rufus grins. “You may have noticed a lack of wounds on my body,” he says.

The Captain clears his throat. “Well, I can’t say I’ve examined your body particularly carefully… but you’re quite right. No wounds.”

“Yes, well, I was not among the glorious many to be killed in battle.” His smile turns sheepish. “I was entertaining the client king of our region – he had come to our camp – and, to put it bluntly, I was poisoned.”

The Captain doesn’t quite know what to say. Rufus had described his death so matter-of-factly. Then again, like Robin, he’d had thousands of years to heal from it. And Robin also makes light of all the dangers he faced in his life. “Oh,” he eventually says.

“It was rather confusing at first. I thought that I had merely fainted. Until I saw my own body lying before me.”

“I’m sorry, Centurion,” the Captain says reflexively. He really ought to get better at this comforting business. Learn some things from Pat or Robin.

“Why are you apologising?” Rufus asks. “It was a long time ago. I have learned to be content with the fate I have been given.” His smile falters. “It was difficult at the beginning, seeing my men move on. First they received a new centurion – an excellent soldier selected from amongst them and promoted, like I was, so there were no qualms about that – but then they moved on altogether. They packed up and went west to conquer the next kingdom of Britons. And I was left alone.”

The Captain imagines what it would have been like, if he had woken up as a ghost in an empty house. No Fanny screaming every night, no Thomas composing dreadful poetry, no Kitty begging them all to play hide and seek with her. He struggles to picture it. A life – afterlife – without the other Button House ghosts wouldn’t be a complete one. They are a dysfunctional, mismatched family and although they all get on the Captain’s nerves, he can’t imagine existing without them. “You…” he clears his throat and attempts to sound as comforting as his brash, commanding voice will allow. “You aren’t alone anymore. I certainly enjoy your company every night, and I’m sure the other ghosts would love to spend more time with you.”

Rufus has a smile on his face that could almost be described as _fond_ , and his cheeks have gone pink again. “Thank you,” he says softly. “What about you, then? There are also no wounds on your body, and you also fought abroad. How did you die?” The Captain makes a choking sound and clutches his swagger stick a little too tightly. Rufus immediately notices his discomfort. “I apologise, that was insensitive,” he adds quickly. “I forget that for most ghosts it is still a fresh wound, so to speak. You do not have to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” the Captain says again.

“Again, do not apologise. It is not your fault,” Rufus says kindly. “Let us talk about something else. This ‘tea’ you have talked about. I refuse to believe that dry leaves in hot water taste good.”

\---

As the Captain shares stories about the other ghosts of Button House, Rufus begins to talk about the former occupants of the Beg-Chetwynde estate. There used to be an array of characters to rival Button House, but over time they were all “sucked off” as Mary would put it, and only Rufus remains. Rufus and, of course, the ghost of Barclay’s great, great, great, great, great uncle.

“When I died, I was met by a Celtic man who did not like me much,” Rufus says. “He was, understandably, rather upset by the fact that we Romans had conquered their land and killed him. It didn’t get much better when the Celt who had poisoned me was caught and killed. He remained on as a ghost.”

The Captain’s eyes widen. “I expect that the situation was rather awkward.”

“That is an understatement,” Rufus says, chuckling to himself. “They avoided me at all costs until they passed on. After a few hundred years, though, there came a Viking ghost. Greta. She talked to me. Or tried to, at least. We didn’t really speak each other’s language, which made communication a slight challenge. Her company was still enjoyable, though, after centuries of being alone. Then there was Sebastien, a monk who had died while on a pilgrimage; Phillipa, a farmer’s daughter from the seventeenth century; and Matilda, one of the current owner’s ancestors who lived until she was eighty-seven and still decided to stay around. By that time, the house was so chaotic that I no longer had time for my patrols around the entire estate. And still, there came more. A young chimney-sweep died while at work once, and I took it upon myself to look after him – being the oldest ghost and all. His name was Bobby. And then there was Arthur.” The Captain thinks he sees a familiar blush creep onto Rufus’ cheeks, and the odd aching feeling from the other day returns. “He was a jazz singer. Had a beautiful voice. He used to serenade me,” he says in a soft, fond voice, almost to himself. The Captain suddenly feels rather embarrassed about his Major General’s Song performance. Rufus must have thought it was laughable compared to a jazz singer. “Anyway, they all moved on eventually. Bobby was the last. He went about a week before our first meeting.”

So Rufus had been alone for the first time in over a thousand years. The Captain felt pained for him. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“You are apologising again,” Rufus says with fond exasperation. “I am happy for them. They all found peace. Wherever they are now, I am sure it is a much nicer than here. No offence.”

“None taken.”

They are silent for a moment. “They all looked to me,” Rufus says eventually. “Being the oldest and a military commander, I was nominated leader of this ragtag group. It is funny. Even after death, I could not escape such responsibilities.”

“Sometimes it’s not the profession we want but the profession that suits you most that is given to you,” the Captain says. “I am sure you were a fine leader, in both life and death.”

Rufus smiles at him. “Thank you. And you are right. We rarely know why the Fates allot us our paths.” However, he still looks wistful, sad even, and the Captain curses himself for failing to be of sufficient comfort. What he wouldn’t give to be able to cross the barrier and lay and arm around the centurion’s broad shoulders!

As if he had heard the Captain’s thoughts, Rufus says, “I wish we could be closer to each other. That this damned barrier doesn’t separate us.”

The Captain hums in agreement, not trusting himself to say anything. Then, suddenly, as if Robin has flickered on a lightbulb in his head, he says: “I have an idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm alive 
> 
> sorry it's taken so long to update lol you know when you spend two weeks sat in front of a laptop either making zoom calls or working on two essays and a dissertation yeah that was my life and then i lost motivation to write anything at all for about a week but i'm back and i wrote this whole chapter in one evening :^) 
> 
> brief reference to suicide in this chapter, specifically towards the bottom of the very long paragraph. stay safe folks

The following night sees the Captain waiting just outside the gates to Button House, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. He hopes this works. This has to work.

He spots movement at the end of the road, and the glint of moonlight reflected on metal. “Centurion?” the Captain ventures.

Rufus is already smiling at him, having removed his helmet. “ _Bonam noctam tibi_ , Captain,” he calls, placing a fist on his chest in a Roman salute. “Now will you tell me your secret plan?”

The Captain nods. He grips his swagger stick tightly. “Well, last night I remembered a dinner that Alison and Michael hosted a few weeks after their arrival at Button House. A dinner for the Beg-Chetwyndes.” Rufus nods for him to continue. “I personally did not hear any of the conversation made during the dinner because we ghosts were diligently recreating an ancient lunar eclipse ritual, at Robin’s direction. And then we watched _Friends_.”

“ _Friends_?”

“Oh, it’s an American television programme. I think you would like it. In fact, I think you bear a resemblance to Joey.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I shall take it as a compliment,” Rufus says. “You were saying?”

“Ah, yes, where was I? Well, I heard about the issue afterwards: Barclay owns this driveway, and he wanted Alison and Michael to buy the access rights from him. Somehow, they convinced him to sign them over for free, but it means that legally both households have some claim to it. I often use it for my daily run now; I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

Rufus is still frowning at him. “I don’t follow,” he says.

“It used to be the case that we Button House ghosts couldn’t get past these gates,” the Captain says, gesturing to the gates behind him.”

Rufus nods slowly. “Alright.”

“And now, you see I’m on this side of the gates.” The Captain raises his eyebrows expectantly, but Rufus still looks confused. He rolls his eyes. “Bally hell, you really _are_ like Joey.”

The Captain can practically see the cogs in Rufus’ brain whirring as he things. Finally, the centurion opens his mouth. “So this is some form of common ground between the two estates?” he asks slowly.

“That was my theory, yes. And considering we are standing about three feet apart now, I think that my theory is correct.” He lets go of his swagger stick with his right hand and extends it. “How about we prove it once and for all?”

Rufus glances between the Captain’s face and his hand. Then, suddenly, he grins – blinding even in the darkness, and _incredibly_ charming. “I think we can do one better than that, no?”

Then, dropping his helmet and closing the space between them, Rufus steps forward and wraps his arms around the Captain.

The Captain tenses, very much unused to the contact. He can’t remember the last time he was embraced like this. He can’t even remember the last time he experienced any physical contact more than a mere hand on his shoulder. Certainly not after his death, and not for a long time before his death, either. His left hand still clutches his swagger stick, and his right arm is still outstretched, not knowing quite where to go. He can feel Rufus’ muscular arms firm around his back, and his armour is pressing into his chest. The centurion is half a head shorter than he is, and his face is pressed into his right shoulder, breath ghosting (ha) on his neck.

This feels terrifying, the Captain thinks. This feels _wonderful_.

“You could at least hug me back,” Rufus mumbles into his shoulder.

The Captain feels his face heat up. “Ah. Yes. Alright.” He awkwardly places his arms on Rufus’ armour. And then the centurion lets out the softest hum of contentment, and the Captain just _melts_.

They hug for longer than is anywhere near proper, but he can’t bring himself to care. There’s a blush on Rufus’ face when they eventually part, and the Captain is pretty sure his face is the same colour. “I think it is safe to assume that neither of us have done that for a long time,” he says.

Rufus nods. “You would be correct. It’s been far too long. I apologise if I overstepped a boundary.”

“No, no,” the Captain says quickly, “there’s no need to apologise. It was… a welcome course of action.”

Rufus chuckles. “Ever the strategist.”

\---

When they eventually part ways – not before a few hours of free-flowing conversation – and the Captain returns to Button House, Robin is waiting for him in the entrance hall.

“You escape the wall?” Robin asks, appearing as if from nowhere as soon as the Captain steps through the door.

The Captain jumps. “Good heavens, Robin, you have to stop that!” he exclaims. “Yes, we ‘escaped the wall’. Thanks to the posh chap next door handing Alison and Michael the access rights, it is a shared space between the two estates- wait,” he stops. “How much of that did you see?”

Robin shrugs. “All.” The Captain’s stomach drops to his feet and he opens his mouth to say some obviously made up excuse, but Robin stops him. “Is okay. No judge,” he says. “Am glad you and Rufus… _friends_.”

The Captain nods, deciding to ignore the clear implications Robin inserts into that final word. “Yes, well. Jolly good.” He has to escape this increasingly awkward situation as soon as possible “Goodnight then, Robin.”

“You are happy with him?” Robin asks, stopping the Captain in his tracks.

“Pardon?”

“You. Happy. With him.” Robin says, this time more a statement of fact than a question.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I am,” the Captain says cautiously. “Rufus is an excellent friend.”

Robin frowns at ‘friend’ (or so the Captain thinks; he can never quite tell when Robin is frowning or whether it’s his resting expression). “You good together.”

The Captain shifts uncomfortably. He thinks he knows what the caveman is trying to say, but he resolves to remain ignorant. He would never… _could_ never…

“Strategically, yes, we are compatible. As soldiers, we have much in common.”

Robin rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “I give up.” He turns to go, before stopping and turning back around. “But- all love is good. Man, woman, moonah… all love. Even mahogany.”

“Monogamy,” the Captain corrects, face burning. Why, of all people, is _Robin_ counselling him about love?

“Mono-gamy,” Robin echoes. “What I mean… Rufus my friend also. And as Rufus’ friend… you have my blessing.”

The Captain chokes on air. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers, but Robin has already phased through the wall. He clears his throat once more and tries to shake the conversation from his head as he climbs the stairs to his quarters.

\---

“I have a question for you,” Rufus asks one night.

They are sat on a bench that the Captain had asked Alison to move to the driveway. Alison had complied without hesitation, even giving the Captain a sneaky smile and not-so-subtly asking how Rufus was. The Captain had answered the question in a composed manner, of course – if, by ‘composed’, one means attempting to start a sentence four times before stuttering out that he has absolutely no idea what Alison is going on about.

“Go on,” the Captain replies.

Rufus takes a deep breath. Clearly the question has been weighing on him for a while. The Captain waits patiently. “You see, the Beg-Chetwynde family has never been… what is the word, present? Contemporary? With their news.”

“Up to date?” the Captain offers.

“Yes, thank you.” Rufus smiles at him gratefully, which makes the Captain’s stomach twist.

“Would you like me to relay information to you? Is that what you wanted to ask of me?”

“No, I was simply wondering about one subject in particular,” Rufus replies. “Uh.” His cheeks start to redden. “What is the current situation with regard to… _same-gender relations_?”

It feels like all the non-existent blood has dropped to the Captain’s feet. Or his head. He’s not really sure which. Surely this can’t mean… Of course, it would be rude to assume… But he seems too nervous to not be…

He clears his throat. “Button House hosted a wedding between two brides a few weeks ago.”

Rufus’ eyes go wide with wonder. “Truly? That is permitted now?”

The Captain nods, quite unable to speak.

Rufus smiles a small, relieved smile. “That is excellent news,” he says softly, looking out towards the fields. “I do not know what it was like for you, but when I was in the army, it was taboo. It happened, of course, and everyone knew it happened, but no one ever dared speak of it. Unless, of course,” he says with a small, sad laugh, “you took the dominant role. That was tolerated.” The Captain watches him, listening silently. “I myself enjoyed both roles. The giving and the receiving, so to speak.” This makes the Captain cringe a little (a lot), but still he lets Rufus continue. “Once I became Centurion, it was more difficult. I had to be respected by my men, and that couldn’t happen while they were calling me a _pathicus_ behind my back.” He looks over at the Captain, and the Captain sees a reflection of himself – a lifetime, and even more, of repression, all for the sake of keeping up appearances. And he hadn’t even realised until recently. “If you recall me talking about another ghost who lived with me: Arthur.” Rufus pauses, running a hand over his mottled pink face, through his sandy hair. “He… died, shortly after someone walked in on him and another man. He told me he was too ashamed, too scared that they’d reported him to the authorities. That he would have been killed anyway.” He takes a shaky breath. “Um… Before he passed on, we… fell in love. It was difficult at first, but we helped each other heal.” Rufus clears his throat wetly. “I am glad that things have changed,” he says. “That people are able to live and love freely.”

They are silent for a while, Rufus’ words hanging between them like thick morning fog. The Captain decides that he may as well share his own experience. He knows that his secret is safe with the centurion.

“During the war, if anyone so much as suspected that you were… like that, you would be shot,” the Captain says softly. “It was incredibly dangerous, reckless even, to – say – fall in love with one’s lieutenant.” Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? Even if the Captain hadn’t realised at the time.

Rufus smiles understandingly. “But you did,” he says.

Hands shaking, the Captain nods. “I did,” he echoes. Admitting it is so much simpler than he thought, and it’s like he can finally breathe after a century of being underwater.

“Are you jealous?”

“I don’t get jealous,” the Captain responds automatically. “I apologise. Force of habit.” He ignores Rufus’ smirk. “What do you mean, jealous?”

“Jealous that people who live now can lead lives we never could.”

The Captain thinks for a moment. “I wonder what could have been, if it had been legal when I was still alive. Maybe I would have confessed to my lieutenant, and maybe we would have gone to the front together and died by each other’s side. Or maybe we would have survived the war and lived out the rest of our lives in a small cottage by the sea. But I don’t begrudge anyone else who can have those things. I am many things, but bitter is not one of them.”

“What about ‘haughty’?” Rufus says. “Or ‘know-it-all’?” The Captain scowls at him, but the centurion’s grin is infectious.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone has had a good holiday season. boy i sure am glad that 2020 is almost over >_<

With each passing night, it becomes harder and harder for the Captain to deny the plain fact that he is in love with Rufus.

The very statement is written into the butterflies in his stomach every time the centurion laughs, solidified by the heat in his face when Rufus smirks confidently at him. Whenever he seamlessly inserts Latin phrases into their English conversations, whenever his cheeks flush endearingly with mottled pink, whenever he casually holds his helmet under one of his strong arms: everything about the Roman soldier seems to make the Captain’s longing for him stronger and more unbearable. Until one day he decides that he must confront it, if only in his head. And so, like any good soldier, he weighs up his options to formulate a plan of action.

 _There seem to be two clear options,_ the Captain thinks to himself _. I could either hide my feelings for him indefinitely – or at least until one of us gets sucked off – or I could reveal my fondness of him. Or, of course, there is option three – banish myself to the basement and never see him again – but that is both a cowardly course of action and one that would harm both of us._

_The first option would allow us to maintain our close friendship as before. Rufus would be none the wiser, and I would be spared the embarrassment of rejection. Of course, there is the risk that I might let something slip and accidentally reveal my true feelings, but that never happened during my life. And after over seventy years’ practice during my death, I have become even more adept at containing my emotions. I am, after all, no stranger to pining._

_Option two, on the other hand, would grant me the privilege of being open about my feelings for the first time… ever, perhaps. I have already revealed to Rufus more about myself than I have to anyone else in a very long time, so does he not also deserve honesty regarding this subject as well? But my concern lies in how he would react to the news. I highly doubt that he feels the same way about me, despite his leanings towards men, so this revelation might change or even harm our friendship. That is far from a desirable outcome. And yet, there is a chance that it will happen regardless of whether I voluntarily confess to him._

After two hours of thinking he is still unenlightened about what he should do – in fact, he may well be even more confused. The Captain realises that he should approach the issue in a different way. And what does a good military leader do when they are faced with a difficult problem? They call in reinforcements.

And so the Captain swallows his pride and seeks out Button House’s resident expert on unrequited love.

However, said resident expert isn’t in his usual spot by the window, nor is he in his room. Instead, the Captain finds Humphrey’s head on the floor. “Hello, Captain,” Humphrey says. “You wouldn’t mind bringing me downstairs, would you? I’ve been up here for a couple of days and one can only count the damp spots on the ceiling so many times before it gets boring.”

“Alright,” the Captain sighs, and picks him up. “Has Thorne been up here lately?” he asks as they descend the stairs.

“Not since last night,” Humphrey replies. “Are you alright? You look like you have something on your mind.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing.”

“It? So there _is_ something on your mind. Do you want to talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener, since I can’t, you know, go anywhere.”

“No, no,” the Captain says firmly. “It’s none of your concern.”

Humphrey raises an eyebrow. “Is it about Rufus? You two haven’t fallen out, have you?”

“No, of course not. Quite the opposite,” the Captain replies without thinking. The two of them realise the implications of that sentence at the exact same time and their eyes meet.

“Oh, _really_?” Humphrey asks.

The Captain clears his throat, his cheeks burning. “I don’t know what you mean by that,” he chokes out. Thankfully, the room they’ve entered is empty.

“Hey, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me,” Humphrey reassures him. “Is that why you were searching for Thomas? You do realise that he hasn’t had a single successful romantic relationship in his life or death, right? His advice is probably terrible.”

The Captain sighs, propping Humphrey up on a table and sitting down opposite him. “Well, what do you suggest I do then?” he says in a hushed tone.

“Well, I think you should tell him,” Humphrey says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. If he’d had control of the rest of his body, he almost certainly would have shrugged while answering.

“It’s not that simple, though,” the Captain argues. “What if my confession makes Rufus uncomfortable, and as a result he no longer wishes to see me? It could plunge our friendship into ruin!”

“What makes you so sure that Rufus doesn’t feel the same way?” Humphrey asks.

The Captain blinks. “Well, I… I mean, he’s never expressed anything more than friendliness towards me.”

“And you have? Who’s to say he feels exactly the same as you do, and he’s just waiting for you to make the first move?”

“I… haven’t considered that,” the Captain says. Could Humphrey be right? Could Rufus possibly feel the same way about an old walrus like him?

“I’m just saying, it’s more likely than you think,” Humphrey says. “Anyway, thanks for bringing me down here.”

“Not at all. And, er… thank _you_ , Humphrey.” The Captain stands.

“You’re welcome.”

\---

The Captain continues his search for Thomas, but before he is successful he runs into Kitty. “Katherine, I don’t suppose you know where Thomas is?” he asks.

“Have you checked in his sighing spot? That’s where he usually is,” Kitty replies.

“Yes, I’ve looked and he’s not there,” the Captain says irritably.

“What’s the matter, Captain?” Kitty asks, frowning.

The Captain sighs. Is his distress really that obvious? “Nothing that concerns you,” he replies.

“But I’d like to help!” Kitty says eagerly, following him up the stairs. “Remember when Alison was going to sell the house to the hotel lady and you helped me? You said that if I loved Alison and wanted her to be happy, that might take something different to what I want.”

That stops the Captain in his tracks. Yes, he wants more than anything for Rufus to be happy, and maintaining their friendship as it is seems to be the best course of action for that result. Even if that means an eternity of pining for the Captain. But if Humphrey is right and there’s a chance that Rufus feels the same way, that he wants the same thing that the Captain wants…

This is why the Captain doesn’t deal with feelings. They’re far too complicated.

“Captain?” Kitty asks, bringing him back to the present. She’s frowning at him. “Are you alright? You’ve been staring at that wall for five minutes.”

“Yes, I’m fine, Katherine. But I’m very busy. Excuse me.” And he escapes up the stairs.

To his relief, Thomas has returned to his sighing spot, gazing out of the window in the – thank goodness – otherwise empty room. “Ah, Thorne, I’ve been looking for you,” he says, attempting to sound somewhat cheerful.

Thomas frowns at him. “Really? That’s a first, normally you avoid me at all costs.”

The Captain grimaces. “Well, actually I’d like some advice.”

The poet is still looking puzzled, but nevertheless he scoots over to make room for him on his window seat. The Captain sits down awkwardly next to him. “If you are here to mock me, I will not take it kindly,” Thomas warns, but the threat lacks any conviction.

“No, this is quite serious,” the Captain says.

Thomas’ gaze flicks down to the Captain’s hands gripping his swagger stick tightly, then back up to his face. “Out with it, then.”

Clearing his throat, the Captain steels himself. “Well. Say I, er, happened to develop feelings for another person. Romantic feelings, to be specific. And I wasn’t sure if… if they reciprocated said feelings.”

Thomas blinks. Once. Twice. “Oh,” he says. “Well, I understand your feelings…”

“You do?” the Captain asks.

“… yes, I do, even though I am a little surprised. And while it’s certainly different to the, uh, relationships I’m used to, it’s not entirely unwelcome.”

The Captain’s eyes go wide as he registers what Thomas means. “Wait, no! _No_!” He leaps up from the window seat. “No, it’s not _you_ I have feelings for!”

“It’s… not?” Thomas asks, and the Captain swears he can see a hint of disappointment in his expression. “Oh, well who is it, then?”

“It’s…” he falters, all of a sudden sheepish again, “it’s Rufus.”

“Oh.” Thomas nods. “Yes, that makes more sense.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does!” Thomas winks at him. “Don’t think your nightly trysts outside the gates have gone unnoticed.”

The Captain feels his face heat up. “You… that’s an invasion of privacy!”

“It’s not an invasion of privacy if you’re meeting in public,” Thomas says innocently. He’s obviously spent too much time with Julian to be dodging such accusations. “But don’t fret, I cannot hear you from here, or even see you that clearly. Anyway, you wish for my advice?”

“I’m starting to think that’s a bad idea,” the Captain mutters.

Thomas sighs and pats the space next to him. The Captain sits back down. “You know, not once have I regretted anything I have done out of love. Confessing my feelings to Isabelle. Attempting to win her father’s approval. Even the duel.”

“Maybe you should regret that one,” the Captain says.

“Do you want my advice or not?” Thomas asks, frowning.

“You think that I should tell him.”

Thomas sighs. “I remember back when you were alive, you became rather attached to another soldier.”

The Captain stiffens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come _on_. You looked at him like he was the sun, the moon, and all the stars. But you never told him of your affection.”

“How could I?” the Captain sighs, resigning himself to revealing his deepest secret. “I would have been shot. No offence,” he adds hurriedly when Thomas winces.

“None taken, I suppose. But allow me to ask you a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you regret _not_ telling him?”

“Well, in truth, I didn’t know at the time that I loved him. I didn’t even know that I liked men! I can’t regret-”

“Yes or no! Do you regret it?”

“…Yes.”

Thomas leans back against the window. “Then there is your answer.”

“What is?”

“We learn from our mistakes so that we do not repeat them. Why would you repeat this one?” He stands up and faces the Captain. “Perhaps that is why we remain here. To learn in death from the mistakes we made during our life.” And with that, he walks through one of the walls, leaving the Captain alone.

 _What philosophical codswallop_ , the Captain thinks.

\---

“Julian!” the Captain calls down the corridor. “ _Julian_!” He heads towards the library, continuing to shout Julian’s name.

“What is the meaning of this racket?” Fanny exclaims as she appears suddenly through a wall right in front of the Captain, causing him to jump.

“Fanny, you rather surprised me!”

“As did you, with your running around the house, yelling like a madman!” she retorts, turning her nose up.

“Do you know where I can find Julian?”

“In his bedroom, probably,” Fanny sniffs.

So the Captain heads up the stairs, continuing to call Julian’s name. The politician in question sticks his head through the door to his room wearing an irritated expression. “What is it?”

“Ah. Would you mind if we talked inside? I have a favour to ask of you.”

Julian rolls his eyes and disappears back through the door, which the Captain takes as an invitation to enter. “And what’s in it for me?”

“The gratification of knowing you’re helping a friend in his hour of need?”

“What do you take me for? I’m a politician, not a charity worker,” Julian deadpans.

The Captain sighs. “Fine. If you don’t help me, I will convince Alison to revoke your Pong privileges.”

Julian nods, impressed. “Blackmail? Now that’s more like it.”

“I learned from the best.”

Julian sits on the bed. “Well then, what can I do for you?”

The Captain grips his swagger stick. “I’d like you to teach me some Latin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter to go woop woop aiming to get it up before i go back to uni so that i can actually focus on important degree work lmao
> 
> sorry there's no rufus in this one but instead you get humphrey, kitty, thomas and julian content which i think is a fair trade

**Author's Note:**

> maybe leave a comment if you got this far?


End file.
